


Wake Me Up

by SkylaRose



Series: Lead it Home [1]
Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Epic Love, F/M, Fate, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Music, Lost Love, Love Confessions, Mirrors, Mutual Pining, Salvation, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:47:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 8,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22353604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkylaRose/pseuds/SkylaRose
Summary: Veronica and Logan are living separate lives.  They have moved on. But is it living?This is inspired by  Evanescence’s Bring Me To Life.  So you know, angst!As I started writing this in October last year I was reading a lot of great fic particularly reading Casket4mytears with the theme of character mirrors, which was a massive inspiration for this tale.
Relationships: Logan Echolls & Veronica Mars, Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars
Series: Lead it Home [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683988
Comments: 180
Kudos: 65





	1. I’ve Become So Numb

Chapter One

I’ve Become So Numb

  
Brunette hair flicked over a bare shoulder. Trailing down to the midpoint of a small frame. Brunette.  _I like brunettes now_. It had been 5 years. Blondes?There had only been one. Well, there have been a few. The last however, the only that ever truly mattered.A memory. A ghost.If he allowed his thoughts to linger, he could still taste her. Smell her. Marshmallows and Promises. 

Jesus!  It had been a tough week. Work hadn’t gone his way, a stand-off between him and his editor.His morose mood impacted by that.When the going got tough, his thoughts always flickered to her.The sick machoism. It was a tale of so much of his life. The amber liquid swilling around the glass in his hand. Three fingers and not a drop touched. Temptation.Looking the devil in the eye and saying not today.Some days it was easier than others. He’d had shit days at work before. But today was a something else. Like waking on the wrong side of the bed. The whole day had felt off. A less cynical man would call it a sense of foreboding. 

His attention turned back to the brunette. Hair curling at the ends as it skirted her hips. The sassy sway of her ass as she exited the bar. Something stirred inside him. A familiarity washed over him. He really was our of sorts tonight.Maybe it was the monotony of his life. Sleep. Eat. Work. Repeat. He had become an automaton. Friendless. Workaholic. Ever so slowly withdrawing from the world. His friends tried, but nowadays kept clear. He was numb to his core. It crept up on him so slowly, he didn’t see it for what it was. A wasting away of his soul.The blonde. She was the keeper of his soul. She walked away and never looked back. He, had maintained his dogged drive to move forward and improve. The motivating factor? Her. It had consumed him. Pushed him past his self loathing. The women. The drinking. The jackass. But like all things, moderation is key. If the pendulum swings too far time can stop. The opposite becomes the reality. Introverted.Withdrawn. A half life. Once you hit that point, it’s really hard to claw back. How do you strike up a conversation with a friend that you have kept at arms length for so long?How do you pick up the phone? long after your phone has stopped ringing.The loneliness seeps in and once it takes hold...


	2. Bid my Blood to Run

Chapter Two

Bid My Blood to Run

  
He returned to the bar the next night. _Why?_ He couldn’t answer the question. Since he had moved to the city it had become a frequented favourite, though never a-two-nights-in-a-row thing. It was a dark brick walled affair.Mahogany and rust.Smooth leather, worn with time.Quiet and dark.Not the gloom of the dive bars of his past.A warmth permeated the tunnel like structure, that he wished he could feel.If he spent enough time here maybe it would seep into him.Pull him from his stupor.A bid to make his blood run. To feel how he once did. 

The hustle of the city passed him byas he sat cocooned in the sanctuary of the bar. The door chimes as people and come and go around him.He never looks up. Staring temptation, yet again, in the face.The chimes.A lilting laugh. His body stiffens.On edge.His large hand holds the glass tighter. He lets out a long breath, he didn’t know he held.That laugh.A siren song.Did he dare turn?To seek out what was so hauntingly familiar. 

The brunette. He is sure it’s the same girl. Ribbons of chocolate cascading down her back, resting on the bare, pale swell of her hip.Low slung denim hugging her legs. An awakening. Her movement through the bar triggers a long forgotten feeling. Her profile clears as she tilts her head upwards to talk to the Amazon standing beside her. A realization. Blood thrumming through his once dried out veins. One word comes to the fore.  _Veronica_ . 


	3. I Know What I'm Without You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The act of writing itself is much like the construction of a mirror made of words. Looking at certain illuminated corners of or cracks within the mirror, the author can see fragments of an objective reality that comprise the physical universe, social communities, political dynamics, and other facets of human existence. Looking in certain other corners of the same mirror, he or she may experience glimpses of a True Self sheltered deftly behind a mask of public proprieties.”  
> ― Aberjhani, Journey through the Power of the Rainbow: Quotations from a Life Made Out of Poetry

Chapter Three

I Know What I'm Without You

She looked at herself in the mirror wide eyed. She changed her hair colour years ago. Still, sometimes she didn’t recognize the girl in front of her. 

Her hair had always represented her mood. Her state of mind. Her repression of her feelings. Once, she had cut her own hair. A choppy unkempt, mess of gold. Her reason; to stop being the girl everyone expected. The girl everyone underestimated. One foul swoop of kitchen scissors and her days of living naively in the shadows of her dead friend, zombie ex and _him_ , were over. 

Now? Her hair represented the girl that wasn’t _his_. The girl who walked away. The girl that took control of her life and lived away from the rumour and the innuendo. 

Taking control? With harsh reflection, looks a lot like running away. Living? Is that what you call it when you deny who you are? Even to yourself? When you walk away from everyone, despite living in the same state, and try to be someone you’re not? 

It’s why she had pushed everyone aside. Carefully coordinating face to face meetings, in a practiced, give-nothing-away fashion. So, they wouldn’t see her for what she was. A coward. Dead on the inside. Living up to her father’s expectations and not her own. Living a life for another is draining. Co-dependence. A constant battle between who you have to be and who you want to be. Cold and lonely. A half-life. Once you hit that point, it’s really hard to claw back. To admit this path is the wrong one. 


	4. From The Nothing

Chapter Four

From The Nothing

Jasmine dragged her back to the bar they went to the night before. The reason? The bartender. Jasmine needed a wingman. Or more accurately, a person who could see behind the bullshit and the lies. Quick thinking. Always knowing all the exits before walking through the door. Some habits die hard. 

She hadn’t wanted to go. Jasmine had begged. She couldn’t say no, despite the foreboding-feeling that wouldn’t shake. Jasmine was her only friend on campus. They were originally dorm mates. Now living off campus together and working as photographers at the on-campus newspaper. Standing well over six foot, Jas was a formidable force of nature. Bright and bubbly, belying an awkwardness and introversion. With a motto of fake-it-‘til-you-make-it.

Die-hard habits. That’s the name of her game now. She doesn’t take on cases. The problems of others are not her problems. The thought of it makes her mind linger on things she has tried hard to forget. Tanned skin and chocolate eyes. Soulful and deep. Reaching into her, opening the door to her soul. Knowing her. The true her. Regret churns her stomach. She has grown. Moved on _. How’s that working out for you_? _Can you save yourself from the nothing you’ve become?_


	5. I Come Undone

_Chapter Five_

_I Come Undone_

_  
What the fuck?_ He looks at her. Mouth agape, his mind furiously trying to catch up with his visceral reaction.Frozen in his position at the bar. He can’t will himself to look away, incase she fades, like a distant memory. 

He watches her walk to the copper lit booths lining the wall. She looks towards the bartender with a gleeful grin. His stomach bottoms out.  _Of course_.  It’s been years. Why would she pine for him? Squirrel herself away from the world like he had?She had walked. He stayed to pick up the pieces of his broken heart and file it away somewhere so cold so no one else could touch it. 

He looks on, through downcast eyes, as Veronica takes her seat. Looking at the Amazon across from her she tilts her head in an off-you-go fashion, smiling a dazzling smile.His blood starts to run as he watches the scene play out. The other woman gets up with a look of uncertainty.She walks to the dark timber and leans into the guy behind the bar. The conversation is whispered he can’t hear what is being said. They both turn to look back at the still smiling Veronica.

That’s when he makes his decision.Placing his untouched drink on the mahogany top. He stands. Without looking back he leaves. Not wanting to see the cosy scene anymore. His imagination aleady running wild.  _ The guy and Veronica locked in an embrace. Her legs lift and wrap around him _ _._ He takes a steadying breath-as the bile rises in his throat. Reaching for the door, the chimes jingle a happy tune, at loggerheads to the despairing song in his heart.He steps out into the night. 


	6. I’ve Been Sleeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirror mirror on the wall, whose the most damaged of them all?

Chapter Six

I’ve Been Sleeping

  
From her vantage point in the booth. She watched on as Jasmine approached the bar. _How does her breathtakingly beautiful friend have such poor self esteem?_ Her gorgeous black hair and big dark eyes always gets attention. Her towering height is another draw card. Everywhere the duo go, Jasmine is always the standout.

She smiles to herself. Jasmine is so unaware of how beautiful she is. It’s what drew Veronica to the friendship. There was nothing fake or plastic about her. There was a naivety to her friend that she recognized. She was once like Jasmine. Veronica had took her under her wing and steered her through life. Using her new self to hold onto part of her old self. To make sure her friend didn’t see the failures she had time and time again.

She saw a flicker of movement across the far end of the shadowed room. A man. Tall and dark, making his way to the door. His graceful walk triggered something deep inside her. He was dressed in dark denim, sitting snugly across his thigh. A grey henley tee skimmed across well formed shoulders. Hinting at the musculature beneath. Her breath caught. A large hand with long fingers reaches for the door. A memory flashes. Those hands. Those exact hands. Strong and tanned. Caressing her lilly-white skin, lower and lower until they found their goal and sunk into her wetness. Her body coursing with want and need for the only man to ever make her truly feel. The room spun. She pushed the breath she had been holding out with one word. _Logan_.


	7. I’ve Been Sleeping B Side

Chapter Seven

I’ve Been Sleeping B Side

The door closed. Veronica was frozen in her stupor half a beat too long. She stood and raced to the door. Jasmine, looking back at her normally unflappable friend in confusion. The speed at which she wrenched open the door made the chimes sound like screeching tyres. Three cars down from where she stood the same long fingers pulled a cab door closed. “Logan” she yelled into the night with a sad crack in her voice. A few passers by looked at her with compassion. Another night. Another break up in a bar, they must have assumed.

 _How did I not know we where in the same city?_ She knew the answer to her own question. Her normal enquiring mind never asked questions about him. It was a tacit contract between her and her friends back home. Don’t ask. Don’t tell. No harm. No foul.

Her sad lonely figure made its way back to the bar. Everything she had locked down deep inside her bubbling to the surface. Quirky quotes. Intense eyes. Looking into her soul with the reverence of a disciple looking to its God. Plastering a smile on her face that didn’t meet her eyes. Now sad and soulless. Her soul had driven away into the night. She walked into the warmth of the bar.


	8. Call My Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not sorry for the continued angst. Please forgive me.

Chapter Eight

Call My Name

  
Once in the cab, Logan finally had his breathing under control. He turned back and looked at the diminishing bar in the distance. People crowded the sidewalk hindering his view. He thought he heard her. His name ringing loudly across the passers by. Maybe that’s what he wanted hear. It’s what he always wanted to hear. His name falling from her lips. Calling to him, saving him from the dark.

His thoughts full of her. Full of memories; the good the bad and the ugly. There were so many ugly.The surface layer of a deeper undercurrent, pinning their lives together in a way he could never experience with another. _Police tape. Rooftops. Car parks. Video tapes. Headlights. Camelot. Prison cells. Pool houses. Bathrooms. Cafeterias. Limousines. Beaches. Blood. Lust. Fear. Anger. Desire._ He let his mind wonder to the good. He was not in the habit of allowing his thoughts of her to fill his mind so intensely. _Him lifting and spinning her against the wall. Hungry mouths chasing. Fingers bruising skin. The feel of warmth as he finally reached his goal, plunging deeply into her. Telling her. Showing her, how much he loved her. Worshipped her...._

 _Stop!!!!_ He chided himself. _How did he not know. The same city?_ Of course he knew the answers. They lay in the shell of the life he lived. His friends would know. Friends? _Do I really have any anymore?_ Could he reach out and ask questions? When was the last time he spoke to anyone from home socially and not just for work? He couldn’t even remember. He had heard from Mac. It was mostly via email. The weekly stats and revenue of their website. Had he spoken to Dick lately? _Yeah it was Thanksgiving._ It’s now July. _Maybe not._ He sunk lower into the seat of the cab. Had he have known, what would he have done about it? Move cities? Risk rejection and go and find her? Fate always had her way. They could be in the busiest city on the planet and they would still cross paths. Fate. _What a spiteful, hateful bitch, Fate was._


	9. Frozen inside

_Chapter Ten_

_Frozen Inside_

  
Waking from a fitful sleep, Veronica stretched. Her dreams filled with snapshots of her life coming in and out of focus. Glimmers of scenes jumping from one to the other out of order in nonsensical madness. _Police tape. Rooftops. Car parks. Video tapes. Headlights. Camelot. Prison cells. Pool houses. Bathrooms. Cafeterias. Limousines. Beaches. Blood. Lust. Fear. Anger. Desire._ It was like thumbing the pages of a book and watching all the words blur, as the pages flicker faster than the eye.

Tired and battered she made her way to the kitchen. She went to the coffee machine. Coffee; always her first thought. Her phone on the pine bench caught her attention. The thought of coffee faded as she reached for her phone and dialed.

  
“Veronica?” A sleepy voice asked.

“I saw him.” _Who?_ would be the normal question, but the voice on the other line already knew.  
  
“I know. “

“How? You’re _my_ friend,“ came an accusing childish retort.

“I didn’t realize there was a caveat in the divorce agreement that we were to not be friends”

Veronica gave a derisive snort.  
  
“You made the rules Veronica. Don’t ask, don’t tell. We _are_ still business partners for our web design. Friendship is just a bonus.”

Mac sighed down the phone.  
  
Veronica stayed silent on her end. Her thoughts fighting the angry resentment to what Mac had said and the understanding that this was what she had wanted. To never know. To be kept in the dark.

“You spoke to him?” She interrogated.

“He emailed me. It was a passing comment at the end of business.”  
  
Their conversation now at an impasse. “I have to go.”

“Shit!” Mac exhaled into the dial tone.

* * *

Veronica paced the worn, sun bleached carpet of her shoebox apartment she shared with Jasmine. _Why? Why now?_ She was over this. Wasn’t she? Can she fall down this rabbit hole again? Alice, lost in Wonderland, chasing down the White Rabbit with whisky brown eyes and jackass tendencies.

She thought of how she was now. A grown up. Mature. A serious life, working towards a serious job. This was adulting, but was it living? No significant other. The men she had come in and out of her life, were never significant. Always insipid. They never challenged her. She tried. To be the girl, now woman they wanted. But these men, left her empty. Never filling the void. The dark empty place where her heart had been. They had all in time riled against her. _Frigid. Cold-hearted. Ice-queen._ She didn’t care. Their words washing off her like rain. Hardening her more so, against the pressure of being with someone. She was lonely, yes. But it was better than being with someone and deep down feeling nothing. Her lifeless heart, untouchable. Buried deep, beneath the _I’m-fines_ and snarky commentary against those around her.

The cracks seeing him last night created, deepened. As thoughts drifted to life of passion. What had that felt like? Could she remember? That blood quickening feeling of love and hate at the same time. Of lust and possessiveness. And of passion. All consuming. Drugging. Engulfing. Knotting around them. The fear. Fear of losing herself. Losing him. In the spiral that was their life for so long.

She had changed. Moving through her day one foot in front of the other. That day rolling into weeks, months, years. Never diverting from the path. Never trying to blaze her own trail for others to follow. The leader had become the follower. Taking the safest path. The painless path. Was it painless? Or had she just become so numb, that she no longer noticed? She wasn’t numb now. She was feeling everything. Her blood thrumming through her. Pulsing in time with the mantra running through her head. _Logan. Beat. Logan. Beat. Logan._....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is longer than the previous ficlet chapters. There was a lot that needed to happen here and it made no sense to split it into another chapter. I hope all my amazing readers think the same x


	10. I Know What I Am

_Chapter Ten_

_I Know What I Am_

  
Now he needed a new place. A new cocoon that wasn’t tainted by what could have been. _What should have been,_ he corrected. Drunken ramblings come to the fore. _Something, something, epic_. Their story was meant to be epic. _Years_. Years of separation under their belts and he still couldn’t shake her. _Continents_. He had traveled the world. A girl in every bar. Never the right girl. A warm body, an attempt to fill the void that could never be filled. _Lives ruined_. No life more so than the one they could have shared together. _Bloodshed_. They had both bled. Physically and metaphorically. The sun had set on their summer. Their last ditch effort, at Hearst, wasted. Both too insecure. Both too unable to work within the framework life had dealt them. Not without tearing strips off each other and themselves.

 _Where did this leave him?_ He would hide. He had fought for what he wanted once. He had fought for her. For them. In the end it was futile. She walked. He spiraled. He didn’t want his life to be that way again. Just being in her orbit could bring him too close to the sun. He would wait in the shadows until she was gone. He wouldn’t seek out that heart break again. _Who was he fooling?_ He didn’t have a heart left to break. Since the time a certain femme fatale held it in her hands and crushed it.

He missed his old self. The one that would have hunted her down. Slowly. Like a predator. Seeking her out. Perusing her, until he had her wet, begging and singing his name. It wasn’t just sex. He missed people. People that loved him and he loved in return. Human connection outside of work and grocery shopping. Now, he had lost his bar. His one social outlet. Well, if you call sitting at the end a bar, ordering a drink you never let touch your lips and not talking to anyone, social. Most of all, he missed her.

 _Maybe I should call_ _someone. Who? Dick? God no._ He had had a front row seat to the “Ronnie roller coaster” as he had labeled it. He wouldn’t help. _Mac?_ He had mentioned seeing her in their recent email about the business. _Would that be crossing the line?_ He counted Mac as a friend, but so did Veronica. _Who did that leave? His editor?_ All they did was argue about chapters and “something” that was lacking . Even his writing had lost its passion. Words were his strength. Now every word on the page was insipid. Pale against the darkness. He had lost himself. He had lost his muse.

It hit him then. Words. He pulled his laptop out from under the bed. Chapter one, Save me from the dark, by Lev Mars.


	11. Lead it back home

_Chapter Eleven_

_Lead It Back Home_

  
Mahogany and russet tones. Like his hair in the sunlight. The bar was quiet tonight. Empty. Bereft of him. He wasn’t here. _So why am I?_ It was the only place she had allowed herself to physically look. Logan Echolls didn’t exist in this city. She could call Mac. _After how I behaved the last time? Pass._ She could run a deeper check. Find him with barely legal means. Invade his privacy. At one time she wouldn’t have given his right to privacy a thought. Her single-mindedness to solve the case, would have discounted it. Not seen it as important compared to the justice she was fighting for.

Was her finding Logan even about him? No, it wasn’t. Not if she really thought about it. It was about her. Their relationship, time had shown her, was always about her. With the perspective of years she had realized that he had given and she had taken. It was always on her terms. How she felt. How she was offended. She gave him only what she was willing to give. Which now, looking back, was very little. She had held him to high account. Her own accountability however was lacking. She knew that now. She had failed him. She never fought for them. She fought against them. Against him. She had let others get away with their transgressions and still forgave. Duncan. Her Dad. Lilly. She had never given him the same latitude.

No she wouldn’t look for him again. She would continue to walk where the path took her. She wouldn’t divert. She wouldn’t allow herself to hurt him again. Turning on her heel. She left the warmth of the bar. Forcing herself to to forget the warmth of seeing him after all this time had brought her.

* * *

He paced the sidewalk of the bar. This was his new temptation. Would he find her here? His shirt sleeves were tucked into the palms of his hands. His finger pads rubbing them into his skin over and over in time to the cadence of his feet. Something had a awakened in him. It was only last week he had decided to leave it alone. It made no sense that he was here. Last week, before he found his fingers tapping at his keyboard at a frenzied pace. The words pouring out of him like they never had before. Words of hate and violence. Words of love and passion. Of a woman, determined and head strong. Of a man, over-protective and broken. Of love lost and time wasted.Words to sentences. Sentences to paragraphs. Paragraphs to pages. Page after page after page. 

Now he was pacing the pavement never quite reaching the door. He turned and walked away. The chimes tinkle while his back is turned. He turns and paces back. Chocolate hair in the increasing distance. He knows it’s her. His heart skips a beat. A slight warming. Not allowing himself to feel more than that. _The guy behind the bar._ He remembered her smile when she had looked at him. The cold set back in. He walked away.

His mind raced. _Fate_. There’s that word again. He paused. His body keening. Telling him he is walking the wrong way. The magnetic pull. As his soul walked in the opposite direction.

He turned again. Like a light switch with a faulty fuse. The light flickering. The tungsten filament glowing copper. Pulsing. Trying to ignite. To bathe the dark in bright white. Without questioning his intent he walked back in chase of the woman darting in and out of the crowd.

He can see her just ahead. _Jesus Logan what are you doing. Can you do this to yourself again. Set yourself up for for another heartbreak. You will never come back from this._

The tungsten still flickers. Trying to stay alight, as the battle rages inside his head. The pros and the cons. This was his last chance at salvation. He finally accepted what he had always known. She was his salvation. He was dead inside without her. The only one who would be able to wake him up would be her. _No one writes songs about the ones that come easy_. In that moment the fuse takes hold. Bright and clear. The light banishing the shadows. A song comes to him.

_ How can you see into my eyes like open doors? _

_ Leading you down, into my core _

_ Where I've become so numb, without a soul _

_ My spirit's sleeping somewhere cold _

_ Until you find it there, and lead it, back, home _

Like his own personal soundtrack, it played on repeat as he stalked her through bustle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally two chapters, split into Veronica and Logans’ POV.  
> The synchronicity of both perspectives I felt needed to be one. Two sides of the same coin. 
> 
> To all my readers thanks for the likes and the comments. It has spurred me on to finish this with only a few chapters left to complete. I love our little world of LoVe. X


	12. Among the dead

Chapter Twelve 

Among the dead

  
Leaving the bar in her wake, it had taken sometime for her to articulate what she was feeling. She was being followed. Not wanting to look back she wove in and out of the pedestrians trying to make it home. She only had a few a few blocks to go. The foot traffic was starting to wane. Soon she would be out in the open. She can see her building, just a few more steps and she would hit the stairs to the lobby. She bounced up them quickly, whilst trying to maintain the pretense of calm. The door slammed behind her. No one would be able to follow her inside without the door code. She stood in the back corner in the shadows looking out the glass into the night. Waiting.

The glass of the door is a one way mirror. One of the reasons she had chosen this building. Old habits again. She walked up to the cool surface of the glass. Surveying the street below the stairs. A shadow captures her attention. Taking its form, the shadow morphs into a man as he makes his way up the stairs, standing inches from the glass.

A tourtured look penetrates through the glass. _Logan_. Her breathing hitches. Face to face, without him knowing. She puts her hand to the glass. As if in time with her he raises his own. A tragic dance of lost loved. Hands connecting on a cold hard surface. He rested his forehead against hers. Every movement, mirrored synchronicity. Logan and Veronica, standing together. Yet worlds and history apart. Wetness streaks down her face. Silent tears the only sign of a deeper unrest. Of a darkness in her that can only be brought to relief from the man on the other side. She finally accepted what she had always known. He was her salvation. She was dead inside without him. The only one who would be able to wake her up would be him. Silent tears became wracking sobs as she backed away from the glass, running for the stairs to her apartment. _She always ran._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short I know. I really wanted to post a chapter on the 29th of February, happy birthday Leaplings.


	13. Make Me Real

_ Chapter Thirteen  _

_ Make Me Real _

  
The day dawns. Breaking Veronica’s sleep, as fingers of sun dance across her through the long ago broken horizontal blind. Light bends through room. Following the deep edges of mangled metal.

She tosses herself roughly across the bed. A tangle of shitty sheets and raw eyes. 

Squeezing her eyes closed. She sees them again. Haunted eyes. Hollow. There is still a warm edge of chocolate. It’s brittle now though. Like chocolate left to spoil in the heat. Even though he could only see his own reflection, it was as if he was staring into the stark wasteland of her soul. A barren place. Friendless. Loveless. Lifeless.

She couldn’t face Logan right now. Her shell of an existence has been brought into stark relief by her knowledge that he is near. She wasn’t the person he once knew. Hell, she wasn’t the person she once knew. Before she could lay herself bare before him she needed to fix something. She knew that many of their failings lay with her. She had let him down in her quest to live up to her fathers expectations... She had let herself down. Following a career she did not want in the attempt to make him happy. Make him proud. She owed him. He lost an election because of her. A livelihood. She owed him. But what had she lost, in the pursuit of another’s happiness? 

_The Law Track_. The ruthless cut throat world she lived in now. No room for friends or even allies. Maintaining her GPA was easy. The people around her, not so much. Determined, cutthroat, bloodthirsty and soul draining in their drive to be the best. She didn’t like them. Conniving and bitchy. Alike to being surrounded by one hundred Maddison’s. Is this the world she wanted? To follow this path so blindly, she lost herself?

No she wouldn’t try to find him again, at least not yet. First, she needed to find herself. To forge her own path. To be worthy of him, else the same fate would await them. Passion and hunger all consuming, until the anger and starvation, in which it would no doubt conclude.

She knows she needs to change. To breakaway from this mundane half-life. To do that she needs to break a different mans heart. It’s the only way forward. To find Veronica. To find Logan. To find life. To find love.

Picking up her phone, her knuckles skim a brochure laying beside it. Sharpe Shot Gallery. An exhibition was opening and looking for pieces by new emerging talent. Jasmine always put it next to her phone, as a constant reminder that she was wasting hers.

Pressing her phone up to her ear she waited for the connection. 

“Greetings, fruit of my loins.”

“Dad, hey. You got a minute?”


	14. Lead it back

_Chapter Fourteen_

_Lead It Back_

_  
I found her._ It wasn’t the relief he had always anticipated it would be. It was a whirl of emotion. Of pain. Of elation. Of confusion. _What will I do now?_

With measured breaths he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Letting his toes brush through the high pile of the carpet below. He now had choices. He knew where she was now. He felt the decay of his life acutely in this moment. The can of worms sat enticingly in his mind, untouched. The chocolate curls, shading eyes as blue as the ocean, morphing back to blond in his minds eye, as he attempted to lock her changed look into his memory.

He knew why she had returned to bar. Logan Echolls did not exist here. No bank accounts or leases were in that name. He knew she hadn’t asked Mac either. Otherwise she would have arrived on his doorstep and not the steps of the bar. _No. That can’t be it. She wasn’t there for me_ , he decided. He casts his mind back to last week and the wing-man situation. What about when he thought she was calling his name? _It’s all in you head Echolls. She is always in your head. Somewhere, lurking._

Where to from here? He needed to change. To reach out and come into the light. He had to stop living with the ghost of him and her. He knew he would be forever tainted. Never be able to fully let another in but he had to try and break out of this shell of an existence.

* * *

He was going to throw his fate out to the universe. Four hundred pages sat before him on his desk. He was going to put himself on the line. If they were truly epic. If the words within these pages were as truly great as he quietly believed, she would come. It was time to turn the tables. He had always chased her down. Now it was his turn to be the hunted. It was easier this way. To leave breadcrumbs. Not physically putting himself at risk. This way he wouldn’t be hurt again if she didn’t come. That was his hope. A foolish hope. A hope nonetheless. A battle of wills between him and a blonde come brunette and a bitch called Fate.

 _Life begins at the end of your comfort zone, Neale Donald Walsch._ The manuscript was the edge of his comfort zone. His hopes and heartache lay within these pages. The names are different, Athena and Liam. The Greek goddess who bested Poseidon, king of the sea and Liam meaning a strong-willed warrior and protector. The alter-egos he had set for them defined their life and characters with just those two words.

The name Athena also carried a different torch. Once in a while when he allowed himself, he saw a child. _Fair and ocean blue eyed. Fearless and free. As beautiful as her mother. He was Poseidon. King of the sea. A place where he felt truly at peace. She was his little Athena. The very best of him. She had him wrapped around her tiny finger. She could make or break him just like her mother._

Steeling himself against the heartache of that fantasy. He locked that hope away. He couldn’t get ahead of himself. Veronica had to find the crumbs first. His long tanned fingers stroked the cover page. His story. His love letter. Placing the pages into a buff coloured envelope. He sealed it. He sealed his fate.


	15. You are my life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some predictions are answered and a little bit of Lilly, the guardian of LoVe.

_ Chapter Fifteen   
_ _ You are my life _

She was ready.Finally, she was blazing her own path, to her father’shighly opinionated disappointment. Something had changed as she studied her reflection. It was a glimmer. A change, barely perceptible to the human eye, except for those who knew her. It was in her baring. The carry of her shoulders. The faint glow in the depths of her eyes.That for a long time had harboured all her lies and insecurities.

She had changed her major to arts. Throwing herself into the study of composition and light. Away from the darkness of the Maddison’s on the law track, she shone. Bright like the sun.

Her father was starting to come around. As he watched with doubting eyes the change in his daughter. He was no longer as critical of her choices as he had been in the early months. They were still working their way back. Veronica had known he wouldn’t agree with her decision. That he would see it as a backwards step. His belief that he knew what was best for her was once set in stone. He was her father. He would always forgive.

* * *

The gallery was bathed in warm light. The warmth distorting and receding as spotlights angled towards the images lining the wall.Veronica’s images. 

Veronica felt giddy in her excitement. Six months of hard work hard brought her here. Her works lovingly placed on pale grey walls that made the catacomb feel of the gallery. Haphazardly positioned walls. A maze for the viewer to follow and discover. She really was Alice. This was her wonderland. All she needed now was her White Rabbit.

* * *

She had found him. Well, Mac had given her a gentle push. A book left between the cushions of her hideous orange couch after a night of margaritas.

_Bring me to life_ , by some guy named Lev Mars. At first she thought it was a jokey gift. The author sharing her name, and the title alluding to the changes in her life. Although not quite understanding why she would conceal it, until she read the dedication.

> I thought our story was epic, you know? You and me.
> 
> Frozen inside, without your touch  
>  Without your love, darling   
>  Only you are my life   
>  Among the dead   
>  I've been sleeping a thousand years it seems   
>  Got to open my eyes to everything   
>  Don't let me die here   
>  Bring, me, to, life ~Evanescence
> 
> No one writes the songs about the ones that come easy.

Veronica had stayed cocooned in the sanctuary of her apartment, balled into the corner of the couch. Reading page after page as images of her and Logan formed in her minds eye.

When she was done she studied the front cover. Lev Mars. L.E.V. Logan Echolls and Veronica Mars. It was all there. The ultimate love letter. The ultimate plea. _Choose me!_

She knew what she had to do. She needed to find Logan. Cross-legged. Face illuminated blue. A laptop screen. Keys chattering. A woman possessed. The volume of tabs opened on the screen only surmounted by the tabs opened in her head. _Best seller lists. Reclusive. Media shy. Greatest emerging talent. Previous works. Who is Lev Mars?_ Asks the internet. Veronica knew! She knew and she was going to save him.

* * *

Now, surrounded by her art on the walls, she tried not to pace. This was her love letter to him. After telling her dad she was going to blaze her own path, she had entered a photograph for consideration to the Sharpe Shot Gallery.Sepia tones hinting at the true russet tones of the hair crowning a shadowed profiled face. Water beaded liked like crystal balls on the tips of tousled hair. Throwing light into every direction as the sun set in the distance.Jason Sharpe, the name behind the gallery had wanted to see more. Now she was here surrounded by her _epic_ love story. _Braids. Knee socks. Camelot. The Grand. Dog beach. The Fab Four. Out of order signs. Red satin. Neptune. Hearst. Current day._

She was sure she heard a giggle floating down gallery from where she stood. Light and lilting. Not quite a woman but no longer a child. A glimmer of golden hair gauzy and transparent just out of the corner of her eye. The words echoed to her “I always knew you were strapless red satin.” And in the blink of an eye the glimmer was gone.


	16. Into my core

_Chapter Sixteen_

_Into My Core_

  
An invitation sat on the coat stand. Black card with elegant gold curling script.

_Sharpe Shot Gallery invites_

_Lev Mars_

_to its new photography exhibition,_

_LoVe Letters._

His publishing house had forwarded it onto him. Receiving an invitation was nothing unusual. He had received many in the past. He never entertained the notion of ever attending any of them. He liked his anonymity. Making a name for his talents in his own right. Away from the hunger of the tabloids and the infamy the Echolls name carries.

What had caught his attention was the unusual capitalization of the letter V. The memory it pulled forward from high school or was it college, of a childish conversation about true pairings and ship names. He had decided to go, much to the surprise and excitement of those around him.

He has slowly been finding his way back to his friendships and the life he was missing out on. He still found it difficult to introduce himself to new people. His name always triggered a flicker of recognition in those he met. He was always uncertain if they were interested in him or his sordid past. An easy Google search would bring up all of his secrets, if you could call them secrets. _Dead girlfriend. Dead mother. Dead father. Murder accusations. Overdoses._ A deeper probe from an enquiring mind would no doubt link medical records and school absences if they knew why, how and where to look.

And so he kept his new acquaintances small. To the partners and friends of those he knew. Those that could be trusted to protect him from the outside world of gossip and the money machine that was the tabloid press.

This was a new step. Putting a face to the name. Stepping out of the shadows and skirting the edge of the light. He felt compelled to go, to accept the invitation without a hesitation.

* * *

As he stepped into the gallery he was greeted by a series of coloured photographs. A close up of blades of grass, vivid green to lime-yellow, where the sun hits each stalk. A lush green soccer field. The bright green hues in stark contrast to the grey walls and warm light of the gallery. It set his mind back to a scene from his youth. Staring intently at the scene, it could almost be the same field from his memory. The tree line was higher and grandstand newer. The next was a close up of a long messy braid hanging long over a shoulder of small girl. So blonde it was almost white in the light. The viewer could only see the hair. No distinguishing feature of the wearer could be discerned. Next a shot of muddy grass stained legs from the knees down dressed in a pair of knee high socks in equal disarray. The room spun around him. The giddy feeling in his head taking the wind from his lungs. He understood. He knew. This was Veronica.

He moved through the room. Following the walls that made the viewer weave in and out like chasing down the story into warren of uncertainty. Only he was chasing his story. Her story. Their story. He knew how this ended. It wasn’t an ending he was proud of. Every turn and new image brings a quickening of his heart. He feels his skin prickle with electricity as recognizes his own image again and again. They never outright identify him. Him lying supine on a bed in The Grand amid a rumpled pile of sheets. Out on the ocean, legs dangling over the sides of his board, silhouetted against the dawn. Him outlined through the steamed glass a shower. _When had she taken these?_ She had always had her camera. They always took photos together. He had never seen these.

The deeper he traveled the more it revealed. The images have changed now to places he recognizes in his current day world. The bar. Exposed brick and leather. The coffee shop around the corner from his home. The gold and glass turnstile doorway of his publishers office. The stairs to her apartment. The stairs to his. To anyone else this would be a fundamental breach of privacy. To Logan this was a sign of change. The old Veronica would have not given two shits about barreling into his life with her tornado like style. This version of Veronica had kept her distance. Had kept him safe.

The next photo stopped him in his tracks. Black and white. A basin with long dark hair and discarded sewing shears. His stomach churned as he remembered with acute clarity the day she came to school with her beautiful long hair gone. How he had loved that hair. He would initiate a tickle fight just so he could feel it on his skin. Her new look was farewell to innocence. He would never forgive himself for the part he played. He knew this image wasn’t about that. No it wasn’t about trauma, but it was about change. A message for him and him alone. He could count on one hand the number of people that would understand the connotation of this still. A metamorphosis. His eyes glanced at the title plate. METAMORPHOSIS. God, he still knew this woman, despite the love story she wove around him, indicating her change. She would never have been so open in the past. So raw in such a public setting.

Another corner. A void. No pictures lined the other walls except the one in front of him. In front of a woman, standing with her back to him. Looking up at a sepia image of him and Veronica silhouetted against the ocean, locked in a kiss. His breath hitches. An audible sound above the murmurs of the crowd. The woman turns. Blonde hair flicking the tops of creamy shoulders. Skin luminous against the blood red satin hugging her curves. This time his breath didn’t just hitch. He stopped breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now my friends I’m at an impasse. I’m still working on the next chapter but it’s not coming together in my head as it should. I haven’t had the time to invest. It’s coming just please be patient.


	17. Lead It Back Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here we are my darlings. The end. Or is it the beginning?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this is late. I know I promised Monday and it’s Friday! As you know the world has gone to absolute shite, and my week has been pretty intense to say the least.
> 
> Stay safe my lovelies. Stay at home and only venture out of truly necessary. I know we would normal sit and watch VM to fill the time, but I just can’t. Not anymore. Cannon now lays in fanfiction. We make it what we want. xxx

_ Chapter Seventeen   
Lead it back home _

The intake of breath behind her told her everything. He was here. _Woman up, Veronica._ Inhaling a settling breath, she turns. From the corner of her eye she swears she can see the glimmer again. _Hands clapping and bouncing on the balls of its toes. Hear that almost-a-woman giggle, before it fades again._

Face to face. Logan and Veronica. Ocean blue on whisky brown. Heart pounding. She can hear the blood rushing in her ears. He is staring at her mutely. Almost slack jawed. As if he is trying too hard to maintain his poise. Silence reaches out before them. White noise. The gallery pales into the background. The lighting under which they stand creates a spotlight. Engulfing them. Living works of art. She is aware that people are starting to stare. Viewers take pause, as they piece together the story they have witnessed and the conclusion of the love story actively happening before them. 

Silence still. The man before her rocks on his toes. Looking downwards. Finger tips rubbing the sleeve of his suit jacket into his palm. The other hand in his pocket. A study of nonchalance. This is Logan. All twisted up internally. Persona of calm. Flip the coin and he is the scared boy who has only ever wanted love. All of it on display in a blink of an eye. The jackass exterior. A Kevlar suit. Shrouding the damaged child who had just wanted a childhood. A boy child, made man too soon. A memory of the boy flitters through her head. _Nervous energy. Perpetual motion. Hiding his insecurities behind brash comments and questionable behaviour._

Logan looks down at his feet. Then squares his shoulders and looks at her. His eyes warm. No longer brittle at the edges. If eyes were the window to the soul what could she see? _Desire. Love. Desperation. Reverence. Hope._ His eyes dip down again shyly. The memory of twelve year old Logan. _Desperate for a friend. For love without strings, when his world was all about his name and what people could get from him._ Past, present and future in one look.

The silence is broken. “You came.”

His eyes crinkle at the edges. His grin, lopsided. “Always.”

The tingle in her skin. Goose flesh. Despite the warmth of the room. He steps towards her. Hands resting on her forearms. Brushing the chill from her skin. Electricity. It crackles around them. It would always be like this for them. All or nothing. A tear spills from her eye. Running down her cheek. A thumb catches it and strokes it up into her hairline. Cupping her cheek. Sheturns into his palm. 

“‘Ronica,” a guttural whisper. As the hand cupping her cheek threads through her hair. Pulling her towards the body she had dreamed of holding again. She moves willingly into the embrace. Relief trembles through her. Her arms circling around him. An anchor. She has been lost. The warmth of it. _Home_.

Logan breaths in her hair. Reacquainting himself with the scent that can only ever be Veronica. Relief. Ittrembles through him.She was here with him. They had both posted letters to the universe. They had been answered. Perhaps Fate wasn’t the bitch he had thought she was. 

A glimmer in the corner of his eye. A flash of light. A familiar laugh. _Lily?_ He swears he can hear her voice. _She was always yours. I should never have gotten in the way._ And she was gone. Fate now had a new name. He contemplated that as he brushed a kiss to the top of Veronica’s head.Her arms tightening around him. An anchor. He had been lost. The warmth of it. _Home_. 

Veronica lifted her cheek from his chest. Her towering heels, making for less of a height difference. Tilting her head back she takes him in. Her hand moving from his back to thread into his hair. She rises to her toes. Pulling his head down in the same motion. Her lips fluttering against his. Her tongue teasing his lips. Begging his mouth to open. She feels his moan vibrate against her. 

Logan tilts her head for better access. Kissing her hungrily. The kiss. Consuming. He growls softly as he breaks it. Resting his forehead against hers. Fighting to catch his breath. 

“So I read your letter. What’s new with you?” Head tilt en pointe.The slow smile he gave made her stomach flip. Oh this man. The only man. 

“Oh you know. The usual. There was this one girl. She was blonde, petite. Smelled of marshmallows and promises.” 

“That’s my perfume.”A glimmer of mirth in her eye. Memories of a different time. Same conversation, different connotation. “You’re still a jackass I see.” Giggling. Taking her lip between her teeth. 

“Wow, sugarpuss, you’ve certainly been a busy little bee.” His hand motioning to the gallery with graceful fingers before returning them to her cheek. A smug smirk tickled his lips. “I got your letter, too.” This time said with a gravity that questioned where to from here. Eyebrow quirking in enquiry. 

“I had hoped you would.”Eyes again shining with unshed tears. 

“Don’t cry Ronnie. You’re home now. We both are.” He brings his arms around her. Burying his face in the crook of her neck. To breathe in her essence once more.“It’s always been you. You are it for me.” And the words said a lifetime ago cross his lips once more. “Do you love me Veronica?”

“Yes”. The response was unequivocal. Determined and true. “Take me home Logan,” as she threads their fingers together leading them back through the maze of their past into the light of their future. 


End file.
